


Hashtag: Blessed

by paperclipbitch



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: F/F, Ficlet, fluffbingo, just endless froth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 14:13:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17602856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch
Summary: “I’ve told you,” Stevie reminds Alexis, “that I don’t want to make boomerangs of us making out.”





	Hashtag: Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely did not expect this to be what I wrote first/at all for _Schitt's Creek_ , but this thought popped into my head and there we have it, some frothy fluff for these best of ladies.
> 
> Written for the **fluffbingo** comm on dreamwidth, for the prompt _share_.

Alexis is studying Stevie, occasionally making a humming sound like she’s figured something out before she gets up and goes to drape herself over another piece of furniture and stare some more. It always makes Stevie kind of nervous when Alexis is in her apartment, because she can’t help but get the feeling that Alexis is sizing it up to fill it full of… pillows, and throws, and other things Stevie doesn’t need and won’t understand the function of. Alexis hasn’t done much outside of helping herself to about half of Stevie’s closet space – _it’s not like you were using it anyway_ – and leaving shoes around for them both to trip over, but still. There’s time for developments.

“Are you planning on cutting me up to create a skin suit?” Stevie asks at last, because Alexis is still staring and looking thoughtful.

“What? Ew!” Alexis’ face pinches. “I mean, you have okay skin, I guess, but my mom started importing my face cream when I was twelve; it’s illegal in pretty much all countries, but it was worth it.” And, okay, sure, Alexis has the complexion of someone who’s never gotten a zit in her life, but she’s still plotting _something_ , and Stevie arches a suspicious eyebrow. Alexis sighs, put-upon. “I’m working out your best angle,” she explains.

And that’s the whole thing, isn’t it. Their own personal elephant in the room isn’t the _she wears short skirts/I wear t-shirts_ thing, or the slightly unexpected end to Alexis’ various romantic experiments of the last couple years; it’s the part where Alexis has never had a relationship she didn’t also live out on instagram, and Stevie doesn’t even like looking like she’s willingly gone near someone else, let alone wanting to get involved in PDAs.

They’re not a secret; there are no secrets in a town the size of Schitt’s Creek, not for long, and Stevie’s sort of sheepishly embarrassed about the attention if not of Alexis, and Alexis has never even slightly suggested some sort of makeover montage, which has been kind of a pleasant surprise. They didn’t specifically tell anyone, though, preferring to let everything kind of… roll itself out. Johnny started cheerful yet awkward shrugs, like he thought there was a speech was supposed to be giving Stevie but couldn’t bring himself to do it, and Moira just patted Alexis on the arm and offered her access to her _more sapphic wigs, darling_ ( _I have no idea what that means_ , Alexis announced loudly, and Stevie got her out of there before Moira decided to explain). Twyla has started bringing them smoothies with two straws in – a sweet touch, but Stevie is absolutely not drinking anything containing wheatgrass or whatever Twyla is claiming are chia seeds – and Mutt’s expression has altered from hey-what’s-up-Stevie to something like bemused grudging respect.

Stevie thought they’d scraped through the worst of it, although she should also have realised that David _was_ going to notice, sooner or later. They’d have gotten away with it for longer if Alexis didn’t really love those indelible lipsticks, the kind that are supposed to last for about thirty-six hours even though Stevie can’t imagine the circumstances under which she’d _want_ to have her lipstick last that long. In the end, though, Stevie walked into the Rose Apothecary with a delivery that David had accidentally gotten sent to the motel again, mouth still a little too smudged with Alexis’ personal favourite shade, and David snapped up from where he was minutely rearranging the skincare section like a shark that had scented blood in the water.

_Did you want some kind of loyalty card?_ Patrick asked Stevie maybe a half hour later, when David was yelling at Alexis to cover what Stevie was pretty sure was insecurity, and Alexis was yelling back in a rush of words Stevie thought might be covering actual nervousness. _For collecting both the Rose siblings?_ Stevie glared at him and he smiled, half sweet and half teasing, and she screwed up her face and replied: _don’t, I’m sure Moira and Johnny could somehow unveil another one._

But the dust settled and the world stopped feeling like it was spinning too fast, and Stevie is mostly used to finding glitter in unexpected places and the way Alexis looks in the mornings, stumbling around her apartment, all bared legs underneath one of Stevie’s flannel shirts, leaving coffee dregs in her sink and clothes all over the couch and exiting the bathroom in a cloud of steam, making the whole apartment smell like _girl_ , floral and citrusy and bright. It’s new, and it’s different, but it isn’t _bad_.

“I’ve told you,” Stevie reminds Alexis, “that I don’t want to make boomerangs of us making out.”

Alexis gives up on trying to change the angle of the lighting by waggling a lamp around, and comes over to flop on the bed beside Stevie. She’s all limbs and angles, but she makes it look easy, natural, like she never had that gangly baby fawn phase that Stevie remembers from growing up; hey, maybe she didn’t, she was too busy using her face cream full of blood diamonds and cocaine, or whatever it is rich people apply that makes them glow like that.

Well, okay, a lot of that glow is just straight-up Alexis.

“We’re cute,” Alexis says, “that should be documented.”

“I go out of my way to not be cute,” Stevie reminds Alexis, which she has to say periodically because of the way Alexis’ eyes go soft and fond sometimes, and she forgets that she mostly just likes scowling and shrugging and the sharp easiness of sarcasm.

“You’re so cute,” Alexis challenges, shifting over to poke Stevie’s cheek with one manicured nail, until Stevie smiles almost in spite of herself. “Like, the cutest of the cute.”

“If you tell anyone I let you say that to me, I’ll end you,” Stevie warns, but even the threat comes out soft. Alexis has that effect on her, though again: she’ll never let anyone find out.

Alexis just rolls her eyes, because she told Stevie long ago that once you’ve been threatened by the Turkish mafia all other threats are meaningless, and says: “I just want to show you off.”

One morning, Stevie woke up to find that Alexis had braided their hair together into one careful braid of brightly contrasting hair, and the only reason she hadn’t posted a hashtag-filled picture to the internet was because she was still messing around with filters. She knows Alexis does this because she cares, because she wants to show that this all matters to her, but Stevie is still struggling with being in Alexis’ reflected light, from there being a world outside the door that can suddenly turn its eyes to her. She’s been perfectly happy skimming under the radar for years; old habits die hard.

“We’re not doing this,” Stevie says, because she’ll keep saying this until Alexis either agrees or resorts to more stealthy sleep photography.

Alexis shrugs and shuffles over to press a kiss to the corner of Stevie’s mouth. “Agree to disagree.”

Stevie could argue, but Alexis has thrown her phone aside in favour of pressing closer, and, well, some things about this relationship are actually pretty straightforward after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Hashtag: Blessed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17985173) by [duckgirlie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckgirlie/pseuds/duckgirlie)




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